Are We Crazy? Probably :)

HANDSOME DUDES!

fall 2008

fall 2010

GORGEOUS GIRLIES!

fall 2008
 
fall 2010

What a difference two years make. The ninos are transforming into young men and women right before our eyes. Well, I won’t get carried away–Juan is definitely still a nino. ;)

They each continue to brighten our home and our lives. I can’t think of a single time that either of us has regretted our decision to adopt, and to adopt these four children. Life is just better than before. It is akin to when we got married. Life was just better with a committed partner. Neither of us really knew how good it could be until we found each other. Our family adoption has done the same.

Life is just better!

Danny…kind, sensitive, a joy to parent
–you love building model rockets with your dad
–you are super grossed out by your sister’s new bra
–you are very serious and diligent about your school work
* The most surprising thing about you is how easy you are to parent.

Ezzy…goofy, sassy,  hormonal
–you are developing physically way too “early” (we just got you :)
–you are becoming more like mom every single day
–you are our biggest helper and hardest worker
*The most surprising thing about you is how much you  prefer to play with your brother and his friends…our little tomboy!

Nikki…sweet, chill, cute
–you are still in the little girl sweet phase, which we are glad about since you are eight (keep playing with your dolls)
–you are an outdoor rockstar, loving all things climby
–you love babies, of course, and still insist that you will be a baby doctor one day
*The most surprising thing about you is how athletic you are considering how much you prefer your skirt and pigtails.

Juan…smart, crazy, emotional
–you are almost on grade level, enjoying every moment of school
– you make friends very easily, and you LOVE to play with anyone no matter their age
–you have matured a ton, but still overreact when things don’t go your way…working on it
*The most surprising thing about you is how quickly you have picked up your schoolwork considering your rough start

HAPPY 2nd Anniversary to Us.
5 August 2010

I am a happy mom, which means a great emotional current has awoken inside of my body these past two years. I am visibly more emotional because my children’s happiness brings me insane amounts of joy. I am still getting used to having swells of positive emotion overtake my body, but it is a wonderful deficit to endure because it means I am a mom.

I am an adoptive mom, which means that I sometimes get emotionally dirty with my children. When the children and I discuss all things adoption, I weep. I weep for many reasons, but mostly because I cannot change their past. I can help them heal, I can lighten their emotional load, but I cannot carry their burdens completely for that would do them a great disservice in life. They will be better for it. I know that to be true, but it hurts my heart nonetheless.

I am an infertile mom, which means that great amounts of grief and sorrow will always sit anxiously inside a small chamber of my heart. These are the most difficult emotions to predict and control because I never know when something or someone is going to trigger the opening of that chamber. And yesterday, the dreaded MOTHER’S DAY, was one of those triggers.

Adam asked if I wanted to skip church and do something else this year. I assured him it would be fine. Why wouldn’t it be, right? The biggest issues I had to contend with last year were a small bout of crankiness and the decision to stand or not to stand at church. Plus, this year, the kids really knew what Mother’s Day was, and they were so excited to sing at church and have me wear my paper corsage. Like I was going to disappoint them! I figured the most I would have to endure was a couple of gushy mom talks, and a few comments about how the speakers wanted to be sensitive to those who were “not yet privileged to be mothers” or some lame crap like that. (GAG!) Plus, I had already decided that I would never stand at the end of the service as my secret honoring of those who still dreaded the day as I once did, and who were forced to stand because they were, after all, ‘a mother in spirit.’

That was a big mistake. I mean HUGE! COLOSSAL! GIGANTIC! I will never let my guard down ever again on Mother’s Day. Who knew that one of the talks was going to be about a woman who had multiple miscarriages over the past seven years, and is finding faith and strength in the journey as she and her husband figure out what their new path should be in creating a family. What are the chances? Yes, many struggle with infertility. But infertility is painted with a broad brush for good reason. There are many different struggles within, and many different treatments. But this story was my story. It mirrored my own infertility. And there is nothing I could do to keep the chamber in my heart closed. Trust me, I desperately tried for my children’s sake, and for my own.

Instead of feeling more connected to Mother’s Day, I felt like the elephant in the room. I started crying, and I couldn’t stop. It was pathetic. And I was trapped because I knew if I got up and walked out, people would see me crying and that would make it worse. So my only option was to sit in the pew and pull my hair around my face so as few people as possible would see the hysterics building up inside of me and pouring out of my eyes. *permission to laugh out loud*

After the service ended, I thought I had myself under control. I went in to teach my primary class (Sunday School for kids), and I started crying again when I saw a dear friend who recently miscarried her first child. She was bravely and gracefully facing Mother’s Day head-on in the midst of a sea of children. This time I did have to walk out. I made my way outside and I started to sob. I sobbed and I sobbed and I sobbed. It was the kind of cry that doesn’t happen very often. It was the kind of cry that I associate with things like my infertility trials and losing my grandma. You know, the kind of cry that takes you to a place where your mind does not want to go, but where your emotions take you anyway. Luckily, I found a quiet spot outside to work through my meltdown. The experience was embarrassing and annoying–not something I planned or even thought might happen. If I thought for one second that I would lose all emotional faculties in front of people, there is no way I would have went–truly mortifying!

The most significant part of the episode is that people do not understand why I was so emotional. The assumption is that my inability to bear a child is so overwhelming that I must not be truly happy with my “adopted” children. That makes me crazy! And yet, I would probably draw the same conclusion, if I was the outsider looking in. I love my children so much! They are enough! They have breathed life and light back into my soul!

That false conclusion is not why I have moments of residual mourning. It is simply, and only, because I remember! I was not crying because I cannot give life. I was crying because I have lost life. Perhaps someday, when that particular emotional chamber is released, it will not trigger an emotional spiral of remembrance. Perhaps. But yesterday was not that day.

We were “rejected” this past November. Adam and I had started the required adoption classes, but had not yet completed our Homestudy when a friend called with a potential placement–we like to call it our quasi-referral. Among other things, I spoke with the birthmother on the phone. She subsequently chose a different family for her two month old son. It was a crazy week-long wild ride. When it was done, I could honestly say that I was so happy for the family that was chosen. I was also so sad for the birth mother who had to make the heart-wrenching decision to place her baby. It was an act of love on her part, and I will always honor that. She could have buried her head in the sand and done nothing. But she instead chose the high road.

But for me–it was as if I had miscarried again. It was terrible. I went through all the same emotions, the same rituals, the same grieving process. It is never pleasant around here for the few days following a fertility related loss. Surprisingly, though, that part of the loss passed fairly quickly. The more interesting part of the experience is how humbled I felt. Once again, I was placed in a situation where I had ZERO control. Not a fun place for a person like. I am used to being good at stuff. I am competent. I am responsible. And yet, I still cannot truly control how my family is created.

Infertility, in all its facets, has helped me develop more humility. Aside from compassion, it is the biggest strength that I have acquired. It has helped me to be a better mom to my kids, and a better daughter of God, in general. The other interesting, and significant finding was that Adam and I really truly do not need an infant to make our parenting experience more fulfilling. I thought I would find the opposite. I thought this referral and subsequent loss of a living breathing baby would focus our intentions on an infant more resolutely. But we oddly and surprisingly felt the opposite, and have ever since. Once we made the decision to pursue an infant, our quasi-referral, with all its key teaching points, was presented almost immediately. That is not to say that we will never adopt an infant, just that whatever child we bring home will be the right fit for us, whether it is an infant or a five year old. We learned that just because we might receive a referral for a baby, does not mean that it is automatically the right thing for our family.

It has taken me awhile to write about this because I needed time to put the experience into perspective. I did not want to write an emotional response. I was not ready for most of the world to know that we were back on the Adoption Train either! And speaking/dealing with a birthmom was a ‘new’ and raw experience for me. We intentionally went International to avoid having to be “picked” by a birth mom. But time heals and things change.

Right now–we are halfway through our Foster/Adoption classes. We have decided to become licensed through the state and see where that goes. I am not so sure I am ready to give myself over fully to fostering, but I am learning a lot about how the system works, and how we can adopt through our local department of family services. We are also still toying with completing our Homestudy at the private agency. And to be perfectly honest, I have been dreaming about three little ones in Colombia lately. The faces from the orphanage still haunt me, in a good way I guess. We continue to keep our net cast wide. I cannot wait to see what we catch!

And boy, do I have stories from our fostering classes! :)

“We decided to go with someone else.” is the dreaded phrase adoptive moms fear to hear (something bio moms never worry about).

Adoptive Parent Translations:
‘You are not good enough for my baby.’
‘You have too many children already, you don’t need another.’
‘You are not exactly what we were looking for.’

WHAT?!? However you slice it, it is rejection plain and simple! Imagine someone telling you bio mommies out there that you are not allowed to give birth because *they* are not sure you will quite measure up. Imagine your reproductive freedom and privilege was stripped from you just because you were not exactly what *they* envisioned. The difference between a mom like me and a bio mom is that the bio mom can have a baby whether the proverbial *they* agree or not. I, on the other hand, am at the mercy of *they*.

The rejection power of *they* is exercised every time a hopeful adoptive parent has their profile pulled. It is exercised when referrals are revoked, and profiles are not chosen. It is a very scary uncertain proposition that we enter into every time we allow ourselves to be considered for a child. Although I am willing to do it to grow my family, I do not look forward to any part of the choosing ritual associated with adoption.

A while back, one of my dear friends was told that her family’s profile was being considered and that the bio mom had narrowed it down to them and another couple. Their newly found hope was crushed when they were informed that they had ‘come in second.’ As if that is any comfort to a woman whose arms are still empty. She and her hubby were assured that they were so awesome that they would be the back-up if something fell through with the bio mom’s first choice!

Some would argue that we should be more concerned with the happiness of the family chosen because the child’s well-being supersedes the sadness of the family who was not. Okay, sure. We are happy that the child has found a home, but that in no way negates the sorrow of our own loss. Why are adoptive parents expected to be less hurt and more generous when they lose a potential child than bio parents? I don’t get it. Loss is loss. It is personal. It has no time limit. It is necessary for growth.

I have a friend who recently lost her newborn baby to SIDS. The tragedy happened two months ago. So for those around the situation, I am sure it has seemed like a long time. When we are not directly a part of the loss, it is easy to detach ourselves from the everyday emotions that come. But for her, it was yesterday. And that will remain for a very long time ot come.I do not know what it is like to lose a living breathing baby that I alone gave life to. But I do know something of agonizing loss. I know that it does not disappear or dissipate overnight. We learn to compartmentalize over time. We learn to find meaning in the loss so that we can grow.  We learn to move onward and forward for the sake of our family. But the loss remains.

So who are *they* to say “your baby is in heaven, you should be over it by now” or “it was only a miscarriage, you’ve had them before” or “you already have enough kids, let someone else adopt the baby.” I guarantee the *they* who say those things have never experienced significant loss, especially the loss of life. And that makes their ignorance less important to me. Mostly, I feel sorry for *they* because I know better. Hopefully, my experiences play some small role in helping others know better too! That helps validate my own loss so that *they* have no power over me.

We have a large family portrait that hangs in our living room. I love it so much. It is a beautiful reminder to me of the struggles and decisions Adam and I have participated in over the past five years on our path to create a family. Every time I walk by it, I smile. But this was not always so.When we first brought the children home from Colombia I could not envision that family picture any other way. I could not imagine ever wanting to. It was perfect–just the six of us.

In fact, when I would stare at the portrait trying to imagine more children, my palms would sweat, my heart would race, and my knees would weaken, literally! Knowing that Adam and I always wanted a large family, this was devastating to me. And once again, as with fertility so many times before, I felt like the broken one. Finally, I decided to use the picture as my family readiness gauge. If I ever felt differently when viewing the portrait, which I was quite sure I wouldn’t (being broken and all), then I would allow Adam to use his heart-melting magic on me!

Flash forward one year, September 2009. Adam and I went to London on a business trip. (after five years, I finally got to tag along) Adding to our family was a hot topic on the airplane, and I had lots of time to ponder while staying in the English countryside. One day, while Adam was off working, I sat at our room’s picture window people-watching on the golf course. I had the window open to feel the cool damp breeze…a stark contrast to the Las Vegas summer. While thinking of all things Jane Austen, I caught sight of a little family golfing. The dad was practicing his swing while the mom and pre-teen daughter were chattering on in the background. They seemed to be having a good time. What caught my eye was how much the mom seemed to be enjoying her daughter. As I was thinking about that, the wind picked up and it started to rain. The mom quickly and tenderly took the daughter’s hood pulling it up over her head, smoothing the daughters hairs around her face, all without missing a beat in the conversation. She hugged her tight for a moment, and then went back to her previous stance, as if she had done nothing.

It was one moment in time. And as quickly as it came to that family, it left. But for me, it lingered.It was the moment I had desperately been waiting for. The solitary moment in time picked itself up and made its way through the swirling wind, into my open window, and into my open heart. It stamped itself forever on my mind. In that one supercharged moment, I knew I was ready. I knew that when I saw my family portrait again, I would feel peace about adding to our family. And that is exactly what happened. I can’t explain how I knew, how my heart changed….it just did! In one single moment, it changed.

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Greater lessons can be found in these seemingly meaningless mommy moments. Moments that happen a hundred times a day for those of us who mom. We mom without thinking about it. It is just what we do. Even if we are a little slow at getting there, nurturing is our nature. It is our divine right. And we should each treat it as such.

If moments are the molecules that make up our eternity, then these countless mommy moments are paramount to our existence. They not only impact our own forevers, but also the forevers of our children. Hopefully, my personal mommy moments breathe joy and peace and consistency into my own children’s eternity.

Two Christmases ago we were in Washington when I found out that I was pregnant, again. It ended up being my most painful and prolonged miscarriage for many reasons. A truly horrible experience. Heck, I am still paying it off because we were uninsured for a brief time. Flashing forward to this Christmas…we headed back to Washington this holiday season. This time with four children in tow. YES! We had a wonderful experience. I found superior delight in watching my children glow with the magic of Christmas. Pure Joy.

It was only on Christmas Sunday, while sitting in the women’s meeting, that I was overcome with painful emotion. All the memories of two years ago… hope, pain, tears, sorrow, the “pins and needles” effect…it was all there playing over and over again during the 45 minute lesson. And I could not escape it. Talk about suffocating.

I had not been thinking about babies or pregnancies or miscarriages or anything of the sort. It just came to me, blindsiding me into emotional upheaval. All it took were a few familiar scents and sounds, emotional triggers if you will. For a few moments in time, I was overcome with anguish.

I guess the reason I am writing is to remind myself that it never goes away. Even when I think I have it beat or think it does not matter anymore. It does! Also, to say to others that it really does get easier. I shed a few private tears during those moments. But after I left the meeting, I was able to move on. Sure, I thought about it throughout the week that I was there, but I never let it paralyze me. I don’t even think I shared my thoughts with Adam. That tells me that it is definitely getting easier.

Of course, I am quite sure that if I didn’t have the ninos to fill up those empty mommy moments, my experience last Sunday would have been profoundly different. Another reason to be extra grateful this holiday season.

It’s November. Those closest to me know what that means. I think it is getting easier. I really do. I was a bit weepy the first week of the month, but then nothing. I don’t think about our first lost baby as much as I used to.

I knew the ninos would slowly and eventually help me heal. I knew it in my head, but my heart didn’t rely on the idea much. And how could it a year ago? This time last year I was a three month old mom to four little strangers who didn’t speak my language. It was joyful to have them in my life. But it was still too early for me to completely let go of my could-have-beens.

I have grown up a lot this year. I feel less of a need to hold tightly to my infertility badge. Instead of feeling like a proud adoptive mom who was wronged by the fertility gods, I feel more like just a mom. I still see and feel a need to mourn the losses in my life that have made me more graceful. That will never change. My compassion meter has increased in ways that only loss can provide. I am grateful to be more compassionate. I am softer.

I have privately mourned two more miscarriages since last November. They were easier to work through than the first four years worth. In fact, I even like babies a little more now. I told my girlfriends the other day that I was thinking about getting a swing and Bumbo for the house so that their babies are more comfortable. After I realized what I had said, we kind of just looked at each other, commented and laughed a little. There was no need to talk about it for hours. It is visibly becoming easier for me. Having babies around is more comfortable for me. That makes me feel a little lighter inside. Walls that were built up so thickly around my heart continue to crumble bit by bit, as I continue my journey through motherhood. The person I want to become is more and more in my sights.

Now, I am not so healed that I never have twinges of hurt or irrational jealousy. At times, glowing pregnant women still take my breath away. Forcing me to hold a baby or play with it probably isn’t the best course of action. But all in all, things are better. I wonder what my November post will look like in five or ten years.

There’s even a song by grandma and aunties!!! :)

Well, it wasn’t the Famiversary we envisioned, due to some health and vacation issues, but at least we were all “kind of” together. My mom and sister remembered our One Year Family Anniversary, and they had hot fudge sundaes waiting for us when we arrive in Utah. We were able to video call Adam on Skype, at least. I think the kids were just happy to get ice cream. For them it was just another party. Next year, when their fluency has increased, I think it will mean more.

My Las Vegas girlfriends sent up a care package with Jaime Lynne including a cake, and bubbles for the kids. And Jes remembered, of course. Thanks for remembering, girls! What a year it has been, huh? Those who have traveled this journey with us, and have seen the kids grow by leaps and bounds every week and month, know what our yearly milestones mean to us.

One year in, the kids are reading three and four letter words, in English. Bedtime routines are smooth (most nights). And behavioral expectations are usually met. I literally shudder when I think about the place from which the kiddos came, especially when I think about all of the little ones we left behind. But my sadness is somewhat assuaged by the happy beautiful home we have created for and with our ninos. They have rescued us, and they have no idea! Hopefully, one day they will understand what their joyful spirits have done to our hearts, and our home.

I think I have a video. I will post it, if I can find it.